


Inconspicuous

by vaughnicus



Category: Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bondlock, M/M, Outsider Perspective, i still can't write endings, short form angst, then happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaughnicus/pseuds/vaughnicus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q got a call, 007 walked in, and we cleared out. That's what good workers do, right? They certainly don't hide around the corner and watch what happens afterward. That would be inappropriate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inconspicuous

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! :) I've just been caught up in a wave of 00Q inspiration since I saw Skyfall and have been pounding out all kind of ideas. This is the first time I've written a fic from an outsider perspective, so I hope it translates well. I admit I'm a bit tentative to post this, as it isn't my best work, but I like the idea. 
> 
> So enjoy, and don't be afraid to tell me what you think! 
> 
> (Oh, and this is not betaed or brit-picked. If there are any disgusting or glaring errors, please let me know and I'll be sure to fix them. Thanks!)

            It’s the middle of the day when he gets the call. We’re all gathered around Ted’s computer, marveling at the new programming method he came up with. Fascinatingly genius for a second-year.

            Q comes back into the room from taking a lunch break (probably with 007 – but of course, none of us would know about that) and sets up at his usual spot. A few of us smile at him, and he returns the expression. He’s a good boss, and has certainly stood up to any protests against his youth. I may only be the new girl, but I for one am proud of him.

            I turn away from him as he starts to work and back to Ted’s computer. He’s answering questions now and I need to learn a few new things. It’s about five minutes later that Q’s mobile chimes. It’s some sort of dark classical tune that I could never name but he probably could in a second. We all lower our voices as he pulls it out, glances at the ID, wrinkles his nose, and puts it back.

            His work is being displayed on the far wall, so we all see the message that pops up in the middle of the screen.

            ANSWER YOUR PHONE.

                        -MH

            A few of us gasp, but he doesn’t seem worried. He huffs and takes out his mobile again, this time reluctantly answering it a few moments after it rings.

            “Mycroft. What is it? You need my help keeping Britain together again?”

            There couldn’t be a much more intriguing starter than that, and more than half of us subconsciously lean closer towards our boss. He turns to lean against his desk so his face is now visible. We casually spread apart and drift towards our stations, and he smirks.

            The amused expression drops quickly though, and he suddenly pales, stiffening. Frowning, I wonder if I should approach. Perhaps he’s feeling unwell?

            “Wh-what?” His voice is hardly more than a hoarse whisper, and it’s jarring to hear the difference from his usual amused, somewhat posh tone. “That’s not true. He wouldn’t.”

            More than a few of us exchange concerned glances. That doesn’t sound good. Q abruptly turns back to the wall and begins speaking in intense, hushed tones. But the room isn’t exactly conducive to secrecy (ironic, really).

            “Obviously it’s not true. He must have had a reason to fake it.” A pause. A very _tense_ pause. “Shut up, Mycroft. He wouldn’t.”

            He doesn’t speak again for a long while. His fingers are gripping the edge of his desk as though he’ll fall if he lets go.

            “Stop it.” I can’t withhold a quiet gasp at the sudden choked quality of his voice.

            There are a few more moments before he angrily snaps the mobile shut. The lab rings with silence as he leans against his table, breathing more defined than usual.

            Suddenly uncomfortable, I turn quickly back to my work. My coworkers do the same, and we’re all intently concentrated on our respective projects by the time he turns around. Of course, we’re all watching him from the corners of our eyes. He looks lost, and I blink back my amazement. Q doesn’t do ‘lost.’ He does ‘haughty’ and ‘funny’ and ‘sarcastic’ and ‘kind,’ but not ‘lost.’

            He’s about to leave the room when none other than agent 007 appears at the door. He saunters inside and up to Q, and suddenly everyone has somewhere else to be. The workers scurry out of the room like frightened mice, carrying various laptops and tablets as they silently escape. We don’t go very far, though. You can still see the entire lab through its glass walls when you’re around the corner.

            Once we’re gone, Bond’s posture changes. It sags, relaxes a bit as he cocks his head and says something. Clearly he’s asking what’s gone wrong.

            Q shakes his head, having returned to his spot against his work table. There’s something generally unhinged about him. Bond says a few more things that have no effect before reaching out and gently touching Q’s arm. That seems to open the floodgates. Q stands and leans into the agent, either unaware or uncaring of his audience.

            The lights reflect off his cheeks and it takes me an embarrassing amount of time to realize it’s because he’s crying. I hold back tears of my own.

            “God, this must be bad.” Eileen sounds shaken.

            “What do you think happened? I didn’t think he had any family, but I don’t know what else could cause… this.”

            Markus speaks up from his position at my side, his words wavering. “Perhaps we should… let them be.”

            I nod in agreement, unable to talk. As a group, we leave them in peace.

                        -                                               -                                               -

            I’m about to clock out and get the almonds I left in the lab during our earlier escape when voices float around the corner.

            “Didn’t know you had a brother.”

            007. Oh, dear.

            “Two, actually. And you never asked.”

            And, of course, Q.

            “Hmm. Not used to all this personal stuff.”

            I slip quietly back into the darkened room I’ve just left. They’re coming forward and I should really just casually pass them but now I’ve put myself in an odd spot and _oh God, you idiot, you’re going to get fired._

            “Clearly. Look, I apologize for earlier. I don’t know what came over me.”

            “Your brother died.”

            I gasp, then quickly clap a hand over my mouth. They’ve gone silent. I scurry behind a nearby desk. They’re just outside the room, and they stop but don’t come in. The pair is silhouetted against the hall light, and it’d really be quiet poetic if I weren’t so worried about being seen and killed.

            “Still. It was unprofessional.”

            Bond lifts a hand and drags it along Q’s jaw. “Since when do we care about being professional?”

            Q presses into the touch, eyes drifting closed. He sighs quietly and presses his own hand to Bond’s chest.

            “Good point.”

            They are silent for a few moments, Q breathing deeply. It looks like he’s trying to restrain himself from something, but I’m not sure if it’s bursting into sobs or jumping Bond right there in the doorway. Maybe both.

            “I never thought… Sherlock, he’s so intelligent.”

            “You said you didn’t believe that he did it.”

            “I don’t know what to think, James.”

            My eyes widen at the casual use of the agent’s first name.

            “Then don’t.”

            He leans forward. _Don’t look don’t look damn it stop watching._ Q doesn’t move forward to accept the kiss initially, but as Bond presses his back against the doorframe he begins to respond, lips moving against the agent’s and hands starting to roam.

            007 takes his quartermaster by the cardigan and pulls him away from the door and into the room.

            _Shit._

            I don’t even breathe. They hit the closet three feet away from me and I curl under the desk, heart racing ( _not as fast as their’s,_ a traitorous corner of my brain whispers).

            They’re not holding back, both more than happy to rid themselves of Q’s melancholy. Bond is still taking control, shoving the younger man against the wall and doing wicked things to his throat and collarbone. Q is helplessly responding, making noises he’d surely be mortified to know were being listened to by someone other than his agent.

            Bond’s hands are drifting ever lower and I barely hold back a squeak. _Please no._

Q catches the double oh’s wrist just as his hand reaches his waistband. Without breaking their lips apart, he mutters, “not here.”

            I nearly faint with relief.

            “Come on then,” Bond says. “Whose?”

            “Yours.”

            And they’re gone.

            I wait a good five minutes after they clear out, finally crawling out from my hiding place and allowing myself to breathe again. I all but sprint out of the building, completely forgetting my almonds.

            I’m home in record time, and as soon as I walk in the door, I find my phone and dial.

            “Molly here.”

            “Molly! Oh my _God,_ listen, you cannot tell _anyone_ about this…”

                        -                                               -                                               -

            It’s three months later and the whole incident is gone from everyone’s mind (except perhaps mine and Molly's, but that’s quite another matter).  Q has gotten back to his usual lively self and is currently standing at his station, on the radio with Bond who’s in some other country on a mission.

            His mobile rings.

            He takes it out, glances at the ID, and answers.

            “Give me a moment, James.” (Yeah, they don’t really try to keep things a secret anymore).

             “Mycroft.”

            My heart skips a beat. I stop typing so quickly and listen.

            Q is only quiet for a few moments before he gasps. “You’re sure… How? … God. Of course. How’s John?” His brow creases momentarily before smoothing out again. And then he smiles brilliantly. “I told you. Of course you did. Goodbye, Mycroft.” The mobile snaps shut.

            There’s some barely audible chattering from the comm. Q spins in his chair.

            “He’s alive.”

            I gasp.  

            Q’s gaze shoots towards me. Struggling furiously to retain my blush, I peer at my monitor and hope to pass my excitement off as some discovery. It seems to work – he looks away.

            “Yes, it’s definite. He was protecting people… Of course it doesn’t. He’s not a machine.”

            He’s stopped making sense to me.

            “Thank you, James.”

            Q’s much quieter for that statement. Then he immediately goes back to babbling on about 007’s inability to follow directions and complete anything without a mess. I catch Molly's gaze from across the room and grin at her. She shoots me a quick wink and I look away, definitely blushing now.

            I’m staring at my computer so I don’t notice Q approaching until he’s right next to me. I squeak and jump a little, but he only gives me an amused look.

            “A bit of advice, Laura.” I hold my breath. “A desk is only a good hiding place when it reaches the floor.” My face is no doubt brighter than a tomato. I can’t speak. He chuckles and pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I can work out when something’s intentional.” He then glances toward Molly, who’s staring at us but trying not to. A devilish smirk twists his lips. “And about that… Go for it. Just between us, it’s worth it.”

            And then he walks away.

            My jaw hits the floor. Did he really just …? It takes a couple blinks for the world to start spinning again. And then I’m the one smirking, shrugging, standing and walking determinedly towards Molly's desk.

            Well, if the boss insists…

             

 


End file.
